Frikka’s eyes were distant, empty. “Tofri is known to me.” She grasped Veethar’s hand. “To us. You recognized our names, so you know why.”
“Yes, Lady,” said the karl.
“And yes, seven months ago Trankastrantir was attacked by a band of Svartalfar and demons. There was also a dragon, a white dragon that Hank and Althyof killed when it attacked our estate.”
Uhkmuntr and Neerowthr stared at one another, eyes wide. Lottfowpnir glanced at Mothi, and then at me. “Aylootr,” he whispered. “Of course.”
“What you haven’t heard, obviously, is that there was tremendous damage, both to the town proper and to outlying farms. You did not hear about the high loss of life.”
“No,” said Lottfowpnir, eyes back on the table in front of him.
“You’ve done business for years, but I’ll wager you that Tofri never told you that he lost five of his children that day, and one of his wives.”
“No.”
“Nor did he tell you that the sheep he relies—relied—on to make your high-quality yarn were destroyed, that his farm was razed.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Where do you suppose he’s getting the wool now?”
“I…I hadn’t thought of that, Lady.”
“No,” said Veethar in a harsh tone. “You had your silver to consider.”
Lottfowpnir grimaced.
“I’ll tell you where he’s getting his wool. He’s buying it from Suelhaym, from the market. He’s shipping it to Trankastrantir, spinning it, and shipping it back. How expensive must that be?”
Lottfowpnir shook his head. “He didn’t tell us any of this.”
“Now you know,” said Veethar.
“The question becomes: ‘What will you do with this knowledge?’” asked Frikka. “Do you proceed and claim your silver?”
Lottfowpnir shook his head. “No. We can’t do that.”
“You’ve said this spinner has been a loyal supplier, yes?” asked Yowtgayrr.
Lottfowpnir glanced at him as if he hadn’t been aware the Alf was at the table. “You’re…”
“An Alf. Yes.”
The karl nodded as if he encountered Alfar every day. “Tofri has been a good supplier, an honest tradesman.”
“An evil man might lie to you, take advantage of your good nature, but a good man, as you describe him to be, would not.”
“Yes,” said Lottfowpnir.
“If you have a friend—a true friend, mind—where’s the profit in breaking with him? Wouldn’t it be better to speak up, to reason things out?”
“Yes,” said Lottfowpnir again, and I thought he’d grown a tad sullen.
“Let’s leave it there,” I said. “Lottfowpnir has a lot to mull over, and no doubt he will have to speak with his father before any decisions can be made.”
“Yes, this is true,” said Frikka with a nod toward me.
I cleared my throat as Tholfr set mugs and pitchers of mead on the table. With a glance at Althyof, he broke the seal on a clay jar and poured a dark brown liquid into one of the cups. “Your ale, Master Tverkr.”
Althyof grunted and took a sip, his eyes lighting up as the liquid splashed across his palette. He swallowed and took another mouthful, smiling all the while.
“I spoke with Meuhlnir, Yowtgayrr, Skowvithr, and Veethar earlier today about meeting a Tisir. Kuhntul was her name.”
Sif and Yowrnsaxa exchanged a look of surprise, but Frikka didn’t bat an eyelash. Frikka, the seeress who never speaks her prophecies, I thought with irritation. She probably knows what it all means, whether there is a real traitor in the party or not. I glanced at Meuhlnir, and he nodded as if he knew what I was thinking. As much as he complained about the same, maybe he did.
“Who’s this Kuhntul?” asked Jane.
“A Tisir—a filkya—who is known to us,” said Frikka.
“And that’s good or bad?”
Frikka shrugged.
“Tell us about her,” I suggested, hoping to draw Frikka out a little.
“She fought in the war. She fought against the Dragon Queen.”
“Then she’s on our side, right?” asked Sig.
Frikka favored him with a stunning smile, and I could almost hear his insides melting. “We mustn’t assume that, Sig.”
“Why not, Auntie Flicka?”
“Sig!” said Jane. “Show some respect.”
“Sorry,” he said, but Frikka only laughed.
“In the war, Kuhntul didn’t so much fight on our side as fight against the queen’s forces,” said Yowrnsaxa.
“Isn’t that the same thing, Auntie Yarns?”
“No, Siggy-pig,” said Mothi.
“I don’t get it,” Sig said.
“Kuhntul came to Nitavetlir right before the war here broke out,” said Althyof around his mug of ale. “In a way, she tricked the Tverkar into joining the war and siding with the dissidents against the Dark Queen.”
“Is that so? I have never heard of this,” said Meuhlnir.
“It is. She came during a time of crisis on Nitavetlir. Two kingdoms, Serklant and Yutlant, were…uh, engaged in diplomacy—”
“Exchanging insults, then?” asked Mothi with a grin.
Althyof returned his grin and nodded. “As I was saying, the two nations had been engaged in a discussion about which kingdom’s craftsmen were in more demand. King Hetidn of Serklant grew incensed—that one never could have a conversation without taking offense. He decided to settle the matter following the ancient Tverkar traditions—by combat. He led his men on a long march, and somewhere in the middle of the Mikitl Skowkur, he—”
“The what?” asked Jane.
“The Mikitl Skowkur,” said Sif. “It’s a huge ‘forest’ of stalagmites on Nitavetlir.”
“Which ones are stalagmites again?”
“Stalagmites are the ones on the ground,” said Sig. “Geesh, Mom, do you even Earth Science?”
“You’re in so much trouble,” said Jane with her best mock glare.
“As I was saying,” said Althyof. “King Hetidn got separated—he’s famous not only for taking offense at every little thing but also for his propensity to get lost in his own bedroom. King Hetidn wandered around, calling for his men. I was the first to find him, of course, by chanting a lausaveesa—”
“A what?” asked Sig.
Althyof sighed. “Am I ever to finish this telling?” he muttered into his beard. “A lausaveesa is the short chant of a runeskowld.”
“A magic spell?”
Althyof scoffed. “Nothing so pedestrian, but given your lack of education, young man, it’s close enough. To avoid further interruption, there are two other forms I will define now. A trowba is a series of stanzas with a refrain, that is sung by a runeskowld, often accompanied by a sort of dance. A triblinkr is shorter and has no refrain. It is usually chanted rather than sung.”
“Cool,” said Sig. “Will you teach me to do it?”
Althyof gazed at my son with a stern expression for the space of ten heartbeats. “We shall see how you fare with Meuhlnir. I will say that no Isir has ever mastered the art.”
“I’ll be the first.”
“As I said, we shall see.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, does anyone else have questions or comments that can’t be held until the end of the telling?” He gazed around the table, one eyelid twitching. Despite the twitch, he seemed secretly pleased by Sig’s request, but the twitch was a nice touch. “Then I will continue the telling.
“I found King Hetidn, by chanting a lausaveesa. His mind was blurry, and I could smell the strenkir af krafti all over him.” Althyof paused for a quick glare around the table as if challenging someone to interrupt. “He said he had met a woman…”
Nine
Althyof chanted a lausaveesa as he trotted between the stone trees of the Mikitl Skowkur. King Hetidn had gotten himself lost—again—damn the man. He emerged into a clearing of sorts, and across the small clear space, Hetidn leaned
against a thick stalagmite. “King Hetidn!” he called.
The king looked around, his gaze passing right over Althyof the first time, and then meandering back. “Is it you, Althyof?”
“It is, Your Majesty. I will lead you back to the others.”
“Good, good,” said the king, but his gaze kept losing track of Althyof as if the king were drunk.
“Are you well, King Hetidn?”
“Yes, fine,” groused the king with a surly expression crossing his face. “Tired is all.”
“Well, let’s get you back to the others.”
“Did you…”
Althyof crossed the open space and came up short five steps away. He sensed the strenkir af krafti wrapping around the king, and the king was neither a runeskowld nor a vefari. “Your Majesty, are you…alone?”
“I am alone, Althyof! Do you see someone else?”
“No, King Hetidn, no one else is apparent. But… Your Majesty, someone has accessed the strenkir af krafti with you as their focus.”
“Maybe it was that woman. Did you not see her?”
“Woman, Excellency? Only you stand before me.”
“Well, she was…” The king’s voice trailed away, and his eyes lost focus again.
“Come, Your Majesty. Let’s get you away from here. You can tell me about the woman on our trip back to the others.”
“Woman?” The king turned vacant eyes on Althyof. “What woman?” He held out his arm, allowing Althyof to lead him.
“I didn’t see her, Excellency. You mentioned her a moment ago.” Althyof took the king’s arm and walked back to the impromptu camp the king’s men had set up.
“Oh, yes. She was quite a beauty, Althyof. Beautiful! She gave me something to drink.”
“Something to drink, Excellency?”
“No, I’m not thirsty right now.” The king stumbled, and his eyelids drooped.
Althyof didn’t like the look of his pallor, nor the decline of his faculties. Poison? he wondered. “Tell me more of this woman, Your Majesty.”
“Ah, yes. Quite beautiful she was. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed, dressed provocatively.” The king’s tone was wistful with a dollop of lust.
“Blonde? She wasn’t a Tverkr woman, Majesty?”
“No, no. An Isir, but pretty.” Hetidn grinned at him. “Her dress was transparent, Althyof. Imagine it!”
“Yes, Excellency.” Althyof was busy imagining things, but none of them was a scantily clad woman.
“She gave me a drink. I was very thirsty,” said the king.
“What did she give you to drink, Excellency?”
“Some draught or another. Mead or something weak such as that. It offended me, of course, but thirst is thirst.”
“Yes, Your Excellency, quite right. Did she speak to you?”
“I…I think so, Althyof, but I can’t remember what she said. It’s as if a fog I can’t penetrate wraps the words…”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Althyof led the king back to his men at arms and instructed the captain of the guard to set up a tent so the king could take a few hours’ rest. He turned on his heel and walked back into the Mikitl Skowkur without another word.
Althyof was already composing another lausaveesa, this one intended to bring him across the path of the mysterious woman. There were a number of questions he wanted her to answer. He trotted and chanted the lausaveesa in a cadence that matched the pace of his footfalls. The runeskowld ran for forty minutes before he realized his path was circling back on itself again and again. He stopped short, standing straight, in surprise. Someone was turning his lausaveesa back on him. That hadn’t happened since he’d earned the rank of master.
He composed his mind and put together a triblinkr, something powerful enough to resist being tampered with. When he had it all in his mind, he began to jog, again chanting in time to his pace. This time, the path his chanting led him down was arrow straight, and he emerged into the same clearing in which he’d found the king. The triblinkr urged him on, past the clearing, and into the stone trees on the other side. He ran on, past glittering formations of minerals and ores, past a small, mineral-infused lake. His legs kept pumping, and his lips kept chanting. Finally, he came to another clearing, this one larger than the last.
“Welcome, Althyof, Master Runeskowld,” said a blonde woman sitting in an ornate chair in the center of the clearing. He thought he detected scorn in her use of his title but decided not to take offense. Not yet.
“And you are, Lady Isir?” He called her that, but it felt wrong on his lips, even as he said it.
“For one, I am no Isir. I could have stopped you, you know.”
She really is beautiful, he thought. For a non-Tverkar. “Could have stopped me doing what?”
She laughed. “Your little triblinkr. I could have looped it back on itself with as much ease as I did your lausaveesa.”
Althyof took it as bravado. “Then why didn’t you?” he snapped.
“You intrigued me. Only rarely does someone of your abilities seek me out.”
“What did you do to King Hetidn?” he demanded, stepping forward.
“No, Runeskowld,” she said, and he froze in place. “I prefer you at a distance.”
He tried to move forward again, but the muscles of his legs wouldn’t obey.
“What happened between Hetidn and me is our own business and no concern of yours.”
“I beg to differ,” said Althyof. He compartmentalized his mind, using one part to maintain his conversation with the woman, and using the other part to compose a trowba meant to break her hold on him, to turn her spell back on herself and to hold her frozen against her will.
“I don’t care,” she said with a small, triumphant grin. “Well, I’ve seen you, Tverkr, and my curiosity is satisfied. You’ll not see me again.”
“Your name,” said Althyof. “Tell me your name.” As he said the words, he began to sing the trowba in his mind, imagining the dance that would accompany it, flinging runes into the world. After a moment, his feet moved to the steps of the dance and whirled across the clearing.
The woman’s eyes widened as he moved, and she shrank away from his whirling dance. As she leaned away from him, Althyof sang his trowba aloud, increasing his volume with each stanza. By the time he came to the refrain, he was shouting the words in her face.
A stricken expression twitched on her face, and she appeared frozen as he had been moments before. He ended his trowba and grinned at her. Her lips twitched, and she was shaking with fear. “And now, woman, you know the depths of my mastery.”
The woman burst out laughing. What he had taken for fear was an act—camouflage. She reached forward, moving easily, and pushed him away. She stood, grinning at his flabbergasted expression. “Goodbye, Master Runeskowld. You should return to your friends, they are waiting for you,” she said and disappeared.
Althyof decided it was time to take offense, after all. “Who are you,” he muttered. He turned and walked back to the camp.
When he arrived, the king was pacing back and forth, and the impromptu campsite had been struck. “Althyof!” exclaimed the king. “It’s about time you returned! We almost left without you. Where have you been?”
Althyof put on the expression he used when he wanted to appear mysterious. “A runeskowld’s business is his own, Excellency.”
“Runeskowlds in my employ have no business of their own. It would be best if you remembered that in the future.”
Althyof said nothing and resisted the urge to bow his head. Hetidn had ruled the kingdom for thirty short years, and Althyof remembered his father with fondness. Hetidn would never match his father as king. The Tverkr was just not suited for the job.
King Hetidn gazed at him coldly for a moment before turning to his men-at-arms. “Let’s go, men. We need to be in Yutlant before night arrives.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Althyof! A trowba for speed, endurance, and a direct path to Hokni’s summer palace.” He snapped his fingers as if he were calling his dog
s.
Althyof decided it was high time to take offense, but he didn’t let it show. He set off at a quick pace, one sure to tax the indolent king, singing a rote trowba of travel rather than composing something tailored to the situation. Treat me like hired help, and hired help is what you will get.
They ran for hours, twisting through the stone trees of the Mikitl Skowkur like lithe wild animals. When Althyof stopped singing, they were near the summer palace of the king of Yutlant, Hokni by name. King Hetidn stood behind, hands on his waist, gasping for breath. “The summer palace, Excellency, as instructed.” Hetidn nodded but didn’t have enough wind to make some pompous declaration or other, and Althyof had to suppress a smile.
The king’s fighting men stood behind him, most in much better shape than the king, but the number of men who were gasping for breath appalled Althyof. It didn’t bode well for the battle to come.
“Well, Your Majesty? Should we set up camp?”
The king shook his head. “No,” he wheezed. “No camp. We strike in the night.”
Althyof stiffened. “What?” In his surprise, he forgot to use the honorific, but if the king noticed, he let it pass.
“No camp. We strike as soon as the men have rested.”
“But, Your Majesty, the conventions of war—”
“Damn the conventions of war,” snapped the king. “It’s Hokni’s wedding night. There will be no better time than this night.”
Althyof’s gaze slipped to the commander of the king’s troops. The man looked back stony-faced, but Althyof thought there was a flicker of discomfort in his eyes. Worse comes to worst, he thought. First, it’s a sneak attack after the day is done, and then it’s a sneak attack on a wedding party. Althyof pursed his lips, trying to think of an argument to dissuade the king from this rash act.
The king glanced at his face and shook his head. “It's decided,” he snapped. “And I’ll hear no arguments against it, Althyof.”
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